


Riptide

by Caswingsuniverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Humorous, Loosely based on "The Vessel", M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caswingsuniverse/pseuds/Caswingsuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*SPOILERS FOR S11*<br/>After watching 11.14 "The Vessel" I decided to write a fanfic where Cas isn't possessed by Luci, but still takes Dean to the submarine. I also made it so that Cas can get on the sub. What happens isn't nearly as serious as what happens in the episode. After Cas takes them back in time, they get stuck in a storage closet on the sub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riptide

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading my works! Just wanted to let y'all know that I do have a tumblr (caswingsuniverse.tumblr.com). I reblog destiel and all that jazz, make some original posts, and I'm interested in taking fic suggestions soon. So yeah! <3

Castiel knew this was a bad idea. As soon as he saw the lore and research pinned to a couple of boards, he knew. The Winchesters know to grasp at straws, and how to make a house with what they gathered. Sam expressed some doubt about Castiel’s current abilities, his grace still a weak flicker within his vessel. He also doubted Dean’s focus, the older Winchester spending more time complaining about having no coffee than focusing on the brainstorming session. 

“I won’t let him out of my sight,” Cas assured, glancing at his charge at the time. 

But the last thing Castiel expected when he agreed to help with this mission was getting stuck. 

Time travel takes more energy than effort, but does require some precision. Castiel had made sure to memorize the coordinates and time the submarine sent out its last transmission. He chanted it in his mind like he’s seen humans do on television, like he used to do when he was human. When he placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, fingers relaxed as they found their normal resting place, he felt very confident about getting them both there in one piece. They arrived on the submarine safe, but got trapped inside of a small storage closet close to the tail end. 

Castiel hears a very distinct grunt. Feels the very distinct pressure and warmth of Dean’s chest pressed up against his own. Smells the very distinct scent of his breath, mint and tinted with beer. Cas huffs, a silent laugh he alone hears. 

Dean jumps as if to move back. Instead, the motion caused their cheeks to brush. Castiel’s perpetual five o’clock shadow rubs against Dean’s own unshaven cheek with a sound similar to sandpaper. However unpleasant the sound, Castiel feels his body warm at the contact. Dean stammers as well, holding his hands up to keep from touching the angel. 

“Jesus fuck, what happened?”

It’s dark in the closet. There are small holes in what appears to be the door, the surface directly behind Castiel. The soft light that does come through them lights up Dean’s face in a formulaic pattern that contrasts with the man’s freckles. Cas tilts his head, watching with squinted eyes as more light lands on Dean’s lips. Castiel hasn’t been this close physically to his charge since he put his body back together, carefully stitching together his every atom. Dean’s shoulders are against the back wall, which slopes to mimic the slow curve of the hull, causing the taller man to have to stoop forward slightly. Their noses touch when Dean speaks again. 

“Cas? What the hell happened?”

The angel looks his charge straight in the eyes, their current situation not allowing for much else. “We have safely arrived on the submarine, but we appear to be stuck.”

Dean huffs, shaking his head. Dean’s hair style never really drew Castiel’s attention, but now the spiked front brushes against his forehead just as Dean’s breath collides with his lips. The angel frowns, choosing to stare at the hunter’s chest while he tries to calm himself. His hands clench into fists as Dean moves again, this time slightly pressing his thigh between Castiel’s legs. The angel inhales quickly, trying not to move as Dean places his hands on either side of Cas’s head. 

Pushing against the door, Dean grumbles when it doesn’t open. He hangs his head to a degree, glancing up through his lashes at Castiel. His lips quirk up a little, the movement of each muscle in his face enticing to Cas. But he can see the panic in Dean’s eyes, knows he’s worried about getting the Hand of God. And because his body is slotted against his best friend’s perfectly. 

“There’s gotta be a way to get out of here without having to call the Calvary…” Dean whispers, a soft sound that tickles Castiel’s skin into goosebumps. The angel swallows, hoping the human won’t notice. 

“I can simply transport us outside of-” Castiel begins to admit when Dean taps his lips with his index finger. “Dean?”

A pair of footsteps pass by. The hunter shushes him, shimmying closer to the angel so he could peer through one of the holes in the door. He moves his hand away Castiel’s mouth, but he can still feel it’s ghost, resting against his bottom lip. He bites it as if to scratch away the sensation with his teeth. He focuses on the curves of Dean’s neck, admiring his handiwork. He counts the seconds by Dean’s heartbeat, the image of him nipping at the hunter’s jugular vein fluttering through his mind for a split second. He blinks the thought away, wondering if all of the books and movie plots Metatron filled his mind with is the cause of his random, runaway thoughts.

Dean pulls back as much as he can, eyebrows furrowed. “We don’t know who’s out there right now. Just popping up out of nowhere is gonna make our sudden appearance look even weirder.” The hunter looks at the angel then. “Do you feel anything behind your back?”

Castiel stares at Dean for a second, eyes squinting as he examines the hunter’s cheeks. It may be the lighting from the light bulbs dating back to World War II muffled by the door, but the angel swears his charge is flushed. He leans back to get a better look when something sharp and rectangular shaped stabs him through his trench coat. 

Just as he’s about to tell Dean that he found the latch, but could not reach it himself, the ship lurches. Outside the closet, voices curse and grumble, low complaints in harmony with the submarine’s groans. People stomp past them, words racing by faster than Castiel’s heart. 

Castiel is pretty sure this is what a heart attack feels like, heart erratically pounding in his ears. During the sudden movement, Dean lost his balance, landing against the angel. If there had been a hair’s breadth of space between them before, it was completely gone now. Hips up, every inch of their bodies touch. Including their lips. Castiel stares at his charge, eyes wide. Dean gazes at him with the same amount of shock, lips still resting against the angel’s. Neither of them move, just watch each other. 

Due to their combined weight hitting the latch behind Castiel, the door drops open underneath them. Castiel’s back thuds against the floor, Dean’s hands slamming against the space next to his head. Dean’s able to keep himself from landing on top of the angel, knees on either side of Castiel’s hips. Dean swallows, neck, cheeks and ears flushed. 

A sailor stops before them, eyes wide as he takes in the two men. Strangers on a ship where every crew member was specially chosen. Strangers who are sitting in a very inappropriate position. Strangers who are staring at each other the way two men should never look at each other. 

“Who- what?” the sailor stammers as another man wearing a beige uniform steps up behind him and examines the scene. 

“Wha- these…” the other man says, clearing his throat. “Sailor, please detain them”

The young sailor looks between the man next to him and the two men on the floor, then nods. Dean stands up in front of Cas with his arms up to protect the angel. Castiel looks straight ahead, touching his fingers to his lips. He hadn’t been kissed since Hannah. That kiss felt as awkward as this, but Castiel feels differently. Instead of a mixture of shock and slight discomfort, Cas feels like his chest is a vacuum. Nothing exists inside him anymore except for the memory of that sensation, the feeling of Dean’s lips just barely pressed to his. He feels unsatisfied, unsure as how to describe what Dean’s lips felt like, what his lips taste like now as he licks them. He glances up at the sailors and Dean, tilting his head when he focuses on the hunter. 

“Look, we need to speak with-” Dean begins to say when the man in the uniform interrupts him. 

“Save it. The only person you’ll be talking to is your… friend,” the man says, eyes moving to Cas for a second before settling on Dean again. 

The young sailor grabs Dean’s arm, the fingers digging into the hunter’s bicep that makes Cas’s body flush with angry warmth. He also reaches for the angel, but Cas stands before his hand touches his sleeve. “I am capable of following.”

Dean and the other men glare at the angel, who just remains still and silent. Stoic as always. 

“Alright,” the sailor says, ushering Castiel to walk in front of him while still holding onto Dean’s arm. Cas smirks slightly when he notices that, sticking out his chest as he considers how much power he radiates. The hunter notices the subtle change in body language and shakes his head at the angel, yanking his arm out of the sailor’s grip. 

“Lead the way, Nemo,” he mumbles, rolling his shoulders. 

The sailor opens his mouth as if to object, but closes his mouth when the oldest Winchester glares at him. He nods, quietly stepping in front of the odd pair and leading them down the thin hallways of the submarine. Castiel and Dean follow next to each other, arms and hands touching with every step. Neither makes an attempt to keep this from happening, both focusing on the brief moments of contact in their minds. 

Stopping in front of a small room, the sailor gestures for them to move inside. There’s a booth, the laminated tabled between the plastic seats shining under the old lights. There’s no one and nothing inside, not even a trace of color besides dull blue. Dean suppresses the thought that Castiel’s eyes drained all of the life from the walls. Both angel and hunter quickly survey their surroundings, starting to become anxious about the limited amount of time they have left. 

The sailor looks the pair up and down, eyes squinting as he crosses his arms over his chest. Before he leaves the room, he hisses, “No funny business.” 

Dean snorts and the sailor to turns on his heel. Dean winks, causing the sailor to stammer and stomp away. Castiel sits at a booth connected to the sloping wall, staring at his hands as he tries to calm the tornado inside his chest. Dean stares after the sailor for a second, taking note of how his shadow and footsteps stop just beyond the threshold to the hallway. Silence settles between them, the comfortable kind of silence neither of them feel the need to fill. Both wrap themselves up in their own thoughts, trying to focus on the problem at hand rather than what happened before falling out of the closet. 

Cas looks up at the hunter, eyes soft despite his thin gaze. He presses his lips into a thin line, trying to think of the best way to get a hold of the Hand of Gold instead of how nice Dean’s stubble feels against his skin. He blinks rapidly, tilting his head when he hears footsteps in the hall again. Dean quietly steps closer to the door, glancing at the angel before leaning into the space. 

“Captain’s gonna come speak with ‘em,” the new sailor says, tapping his foot against the floor. “I heard that they…”

Dean raises an eyebrow at both completed and uncompleted phrases, resting his hand on the wall to keep from losing his balance and falling out of the room. 

The sailor who detained them sighs heavily. “These men are. I saw them…” 

There is a pause of disgusted silence before the new sailor whispers, “Disgusting homosexuals….”

Dean’s mouth drops open and he quickly backs away from the door. Typically, he stood up for his sexuality. Claimed his heterosexual identity like a white flag and waved it for everyone to see. Now, he just sits next to Castiel, who stares at the table in front of them.

The angel heard what the men said, could here every hushed word and disgusted snort of the rest of the crew as well. He touches his fingers to his lips again, pressing into the chapped surface with his short fingernails. It hurts a little, reminds him that he has lips. Reminds him that lips don’t just move, but feel. He doesn’t notice his charge gawking at him, mouth open slightly as if he will start drooling. 

Dean rolls his shoulder, silently laughing to brush it all off. But Castiel doesn’t stop touching his lips, and Dean can’t stop thinking about how unsatisfied he feels. Like the kiss wasn’t real. He wonders why he would want more, why he would want to kiss his best friend. The more he watches the angel, the more he can’t stop thinking about it. He makes himself grin, hands shaking slightly as he slides a little closer to Cas. 

Pulling the hand away, Dean smiles at Castiel. He shakes his head. “Why are you doing that? It’s not like it was a good kiss…” Dean pauses, going over his word choice when Castiel’s eyes widen. “There wasn’t purpose behind it, no feelings.”

Castiel stares at his charge, awestruck at his openness, at his calmness. The hunter felt good enough to pass off what happened, but the angel finds that he can only be honest with his charge. 

“I understand,” Castiel says, staring into Dean’s gaze. “I just haven’t been kissed in a while. And all the ones before lacked that purpose you speak of. From my end, anyway.”

The hunter’s eyes bulge at that, gaze glancing down to Castiel’s lips. “You mean you haven’t really had…”

Castiel shrugs, smirking a little. “I’ve had intercourse, Dean. I’ve been kissed. It just felt unimportant.” The angel looks up, tilting his head as he tries to explain. “I haven’t experienced ‘fireworks’”

Dean laughs when Cas uses air quotes, his body moving even closer. Castiel notices but doesn’t move away. He doesn’t move closer either, lets Dean decide every little moment of action between them. 

“Fireworks?” Dean whispers. Cas nods, looking down at the hunter’s lips when he licks them. They both swallow, leaning a little away to relieve some of the tension between them. 

“So you felt fireworks?” Dean asks, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

Castiel doesn’t look away from Dean this time. He sits perfectly still, frozen where he is as he contemplates what Dean is asking. He stammers what he does know. “I- I don’t k-know. It was short and awkward and on accid-”

To both shut the angel up and to test his own emotions, Dean quiets Castiel by kissing him. Through muscle memory, Dean’s hands find their resting places. One wraps around Cas’s back, clutching the trench coat and pulling him still closer. The second caresses Castiel’s face, scratching lightly at the dark curly hair at the base of his neck. Castiel jumps, gasping and accidentally biting the hunter’s bottom lip.

Dean chuckles, resting his forehead against his best friend’s. It didn’t feel bad like he expected. He licks his lips to test the tingling from the bite and the feeling of Castiel’s chapped skin. The angel’s eyes are as wide as they were the first time, mouth open enough that Dean can feel his warmth breath against his face. 

The angel glances at Dean’s mouth, watching the hunter carefully as he touches his lips to Dean’s. After a second, he pulls away. Dean rolls his eyes but lets Cas test it all out. Test him out. 

Castiel isn’t sure how to feel as he relaxes in Dean’s grip, everything muffled by surprise. His cheeks feel like exploding stars, his heart a volcano pumping lava through his veins. Every time he closes his eyes to take a breath to calm down, an explosion of kaleidoscopes appear in his mind. The colors and prisms rain down, dripping slowly and swirling down a drain somewhere in his head. Not the obtrusive booming of fireworks, something calmer, more meditated. 

Dean watches the angel, tilting his head back so he can see every twitch of Cas’s lips and eyelids, see how his nose scrunches up like he’s thinking hard. They stay silent, hands loosely holding onto each other. Minutes pass and Cas still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t attempted to kiss Dean. The hunter’s hands start to sweat, and he looks around the room anxiously. He opens his mouth to say something to get Cas’s attention when he hears someone clear their throat behind them. 

Dean jumps, quickly pushing Cas away as the angel gazes up at the man in front of them like he could smite him if he felt so inclined. Dean coughs and leans towards Castiel, staring at the angel to get him to stop. The man was decorated differently than the other sailors, probably a captain. Castiel glances at Dean in his peripheral vision and sits back, but still glares at the man. 

Dean looks back towards their captor, putting on a charming smile and shrugging to silently apologize for Castiel’s looks. Underneath the booth, he places his hand over Cas’s to keep him from doing anything stupid. 

When Cas turns his around to hold it tightly, Dean pretends to not flush with something akin to excitement.


End file.
